What We Need
by PythonFan
Summary: An innocent game of Truth or Dare brings back painful memories for Roger. RogerMimi.


"Truth or dare, Rog?" Mark called from his spot on the couch.

Roger, bent over the kitchen counter scanning the paper, glanced up briefly. "No."

"Come on, you old grouch, lose that goddamn superiority complex and _play with us._" Maureen chimed in, "Truth or dare?"

The rock star rolled his eyes. Collins and Angel were out for the night, and Joanne was tied up at work, so he was being aggressively recruited to boost the group's lagging numbers. The night was young, no one had had much to drink, yet they had already reverted back to junior high. "What's next? Seven minutes in heaven?" he muttered.

Maureen smirked. "Yeah, you wish." She boosted herself up off the floor and swiped her beer from where it lay next to her. Walking over to her eternally-gruff friend, she tipped the beer ever-so-slightly over the top of his head, a few drops splattering into the hair that he constantly worked to keep so perfectly mussed.

"Fucking _hell_." Roger cursed, clawing his hands through his scalp in a desperate attempt to remove the offending liquid. "What the _fuck_ was that for?" he demanded.

Maureen giggled. "For being a jackass." She shook her beer bottle lightly. "And there's a lot more where that came from if you want to keep acting like that. So just play one round with us, and my beer will go down my throat, where it belongs."

Roger had fairly vivid thoughts of other things that he'd like to do with Maureen's throat. However, the eccentric actress was nothing if not true to her threats; he knew she'd follow up on her ultimatum if he didn't comply.

One round? _If it gets them to leave me the fuck alone, why the hell not? _He sighed in resignation. "Truth." Knowing this group, he didn't want to think about what kind of dare they'd come up with. They'd probably make him play for the rest of the night. At worst, with truth, he could always lie.

Maureen grinned delightedly and did a little bounce, clapping her hands. "Yay!" She retreated back to the couch and collapsed into it, smiling in satisfaction. "You do the honors, Markie."

Roger watched his best friend intently. He could practically see the wheels in Mark's brain turning. _He doesn't know what to ask. He knows me too well._

After a moment, though, the filmmaker's eyes lit up and a devilish grin crossed his face.

"Okay. You have to tell us…why you keep a stuffed penguin in your closet."

Mimi, who until this point had been sitting quietly in the old recliner, choked on a mouthful of beer.

Maureen's large dark eyes grew wide. Her attempt to fight back a giggle resulted in a loud snort. "A penguin?"

Roger stiffened, suddenly rooted to his spot. A chill ran down his spine. For a split second, he couldn't breathe.

He recovered quickly, though. "What the _fuck _were you doing in my closet?" he demanded quietly, an unusually icy-fierce undertone lacing the question.

Mark, caught off-guard by his friend's uncharacteristic reaction, looked momentarily shocked. Speechless, he could only open and close his mouth several times before sputtering, "I just…I was…looking…for…"

Roger, meanwhile, looked as if the filmmaker had killed his dog. A few awkward seconds passed before his jaw tightened and his eyes glazed over. Without a word, he got up and crossed the loft, disappearing into his room.

The remaining three exchanged confused glances which were interrupted seconds later when the guitarist emerged. Sure enough, a stuffed penguin—old and worn—was clenched tightly in his fingers.

He glared at Maureen, eyes ablaze. "Yes, drama queen, I have a stuffed penguin. Now go ahead, go and tell the whole fucking world: Roger Davis has a stuffed animal in his closet" He whipped the plush black-and-white toy across the room at her. "Happy now?"

Three shocked gazes followed him as he strode briskly out onto the fire escape. An awkward silence filled the room before Maureen and Mark turned their eyes toward the wide-eyed dancer.

It took a moment for Mimi to realize that she had suddenly become the center of attention. She blinked in surprise. She had only known these people, had only been dating Roger, for a few weeks. _They don't actually expect me to…?_

Mark grimaced. "Uh…maybe you should, uh…" he jerked his head in the direction of the window. "I don't think he's too wild about us," his eyes slid briefly over to include Maureen, "at the moment."

Maureen wrinkled her nose and smiled bashfully by way of agreement.

Mimi swallowed. _Oh. That's exactly what they expect me to do._

Roger shifted his back against the cold brick of the building, legs sprawled out in front of him. He wished he had brought a beer out here with him. Or his cigarettes. Of course, he couldn't go back in there now; he'd look like an ass. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes and letting his head tip back to rest against the rough brick.

Suddenly, something small and soft hit his lap. His eyes fluttered open. Resting on his thighs was the penguin, faded and ragged with age. He looked up to see his girlfriend standing over him with a blanket draped over one arm, wearing an expression he couldn't quite read.

She smiled weakly. "This seat taken?" Her voice faltered slightly. Oh. She was scared. Of him.

He fought back the guilt, though, trying his best to shrug noncommittally.

Taking the gesture as one of acquiescence, Mimi slid down next to him, tossing one side of the blanket over his legs and keeping the other for herself. "It's too cold to be out here without anything to keep warm." she murmured.

"Yeah…you should…you should go back in. Don't let 'em bully you into entertaining me." he muttered. Head bowed, he fiddled awkwardly with the old flannel fabric of the blanket.

"I've lived without heat before, you know." she reminded him gently.

"Yeah, but you're…"

"HIV? Sorry to say, _papi_, but I've got news for you…"

Roger sighed in exasperation. As Mimi tucked the blankets around her legs, a silence fell between them. She wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Leaning back against the wall, she let her eyes wander over the city skyline, a galaxy of lights punctuating the black expanse of night sky.

After a long stretch of silence, she fiddled under the blankets, finally producing a small plush cow that Roger hadn't noticed when she first sat down. She turned it in her hands carefully.

"When I was seven," she began, fingering the tattered black spots, "they came and took me and my brother and sisters out of our apartment, and sent us to live with our grandmother in East Harlem." She chuckled. "Mama hated her mother, so she'd _kill _me if she ever heard me say this—but…those were the best two months of my life." Biting her lip, she paused a moment before continuing. "It was like a dream. No one hit us, and we never went hungry. We always had clean clothes to wear. She even…read us bedtime stories. Every night." She closed her eyes lightly and shook her head as if to clear it.

"Anyway. After a couple months, they gave custody back to my parents." With a half-smile, she caressed the little cow's soft head. "The day before we went back, we were all upset. So, to cheer us up, Abuela took us to the toy store, and let each of us pick something out." A giggle escaped her lips. "When I picked a cow, she laughed. Told me she'd seen enough of those on the farm in Puerto Rico."

Sobering suddenly, she licked her lips. "The next day, we went back. I only saw Abuela once or twice after that. She died when I was nine." Glancing up at the velvet-black sky, she took a deep breath. "Even after I left home, I could never make myself give him up." She shrugged, looking sideways at him with a half-smile, trying to gauge his reaction.

His face was blank. He wasn't even looking at her, just gazing out over the city as if in a trance.

Discouraged, Mimi pursed her lips and shifted uncomfortably under the blankets. She turned her own attention to the skyline, trying desperately to think of some way to get out of the situation.

"I got it when I was five…" he began suddenly, his voice hoarse. Mimi looked over in surprise. She hadn't expected him to talk about it at all; much less as quickly as he did.

"My mom was in the hospital, she'd just had my brother." He swallowed. "Someone must have bought it so I wouldn't feel left out. Told me it was 'from the baby.' You know, that kind of thing." He smiled uneasily at her. She was also fairly sure that his red cheeks were not solely the result of the cold.

"I didn't know you had a brother." she said softly. He grimaced in response.

"Oh, I…I don't. Not anymore." A beat. "He, uh…he died when he was about a month old." He smiled wryly. "That was kind of the beginning of the end for my family. Mom got depressed. The old man split after a year."

Mimi's chest tightened. She took a deep breath to clear it. "I'm sorry." she said honestly.

Roger glanced over at her. "Not your fault." he murmured gruffly. Turning his attention back to the blanket, he continued. "I mean…I don't sleep with it…anymore…or anything. I just…keep it with me."

She watched him busy himself with the worn red flannel. "Mark doesn't know…?" she asked after a moment.

He shook his head. "We didn't meet until junior high. It just…never came up." Stealing a quick glance into the loft, a sardonic smirk crossed his face. "Jesus Christ, we're fucking pathetic. The Jewish-American prince and princess in there are probably laughing their asses off."

Mimi pulled one knee up to her chest, forehead wrinkled. "That's not true." she said softly.

"Are you kidding? We're a rock star and a stripper who can't give up a couple of stuffed animals."

She smiled grimly and slowly let her head drop against his shoulder. "Yeah, we are. And maybe…that's okay. Maybe…the stripper and the rock star just need them more."


End file.
